


Ho'oponopono

by okbutjusthisonce



Series: Submarine [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Domestic, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Omega John Watson, Omega Verse, Parentlock, Sherlock Apologizes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:17:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3222038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okbutjusthisonce/pseuds/okbutjusthisonce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well look who’s here, baby girl, “ John said, eyes focused on Sherlock, “it’s your long lost father.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ho'oponopono

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to 'Submarine'.  
> I wrote this ages ago. I even posted it, then ripped it down in dissatisfaction.  
> tonight I re-edtied it, and am re-posting it. "enjoy".  
> Now with 200% more fluff.

“...so then obviously, submersibles can not go through active volcanoes. They burn up.” said Sherlock.

“ _Obviously_ ,” repeated the little boy with a disapproving look “ But when I build my submersible, it won’t,” he assured.

Sherlock smiled, watched Ben as he applied some glue.

“And then we can find where the colossal squids live,” said the boy “You can come with me, _obviously_.”

“Aren’t the colossal squids in the Arctic?”

“That’s why we have to go through Mauna Loa and down, Father. _Obviously_.”

Sherlock was about to correct his son on some of the finer points of geography, physics, deep sea pressure and using new big words too often, when they heard the sound of people entering the flat.

“Guess what Ben, I found a snail and Daddy says we can keep it!” Piped a small, excited voice. Sherlock looked up from the surprisingly complex model submarine he was holding.

A second boy had appeared in the doorway and stopped.

Looking at him, Sherlock deduced that most people - dull, average people - might mistake the boy for Ben’s identical twin. He was very similar in a superficial way; with the same height, same dark curls and pale skin. The same uncanny resemblance to Sherlock himself. But this boy had a trace of John; a slightly John-ish nose, and more importantly, an aire of vague angst. Second born, Sherlock thought.

The boy had obviously been in a fight; though he’d done well enough to hide it. Most people probably wouldn’t notice the boy’s shirt wasn’t his own. The buttons were tight against his body, for the shirt was on the small side, but then so was the child. Nor would most see the marks on the bottom of the little violin case he carried, or the drops of blood on the hinges. He held in his other hand, a shell.

And then John appeared. He looked amazing; fit and healthy. Disturbingly enough he was sporting what looked to Sherlock like a 70’s porn moustache. Even more disturbingly he was holding a toddler in his arms; a little girl with dark curls who sucked on a dummy and looked straight into Sherlock with giant pale eyes. Sherlock blinked. The vision remained.

“Well look who’s here, baby girl, “ John said, eyes focused on Sherlock, “it’s your long lost father.”

“Hello, John.” Sherlock said, his voice cracking.

“Martin! Look, father’s back!” said Ben. Though Sherlock wished desperately to point out the _obviousness_ of the statement, he held his tongue.

“Martin, introduce yourself.” said John flatly. The second boy put his violin case down and approached Sherlock.

“Je m'appelle Martin, j'ai quatre ans. J'habite à Londres. J'aime jouer du violin et vais nager dans la piscine. Mon père est un médecin. Je suis enchanté de faire votre connaissance." he said. He offered Sherlock the shell with a look far too intense for a four year old. Sherlock took it gently in his free hand, wondering just how surreal his life might become. He placed the terrified snail on the deck of the submarine.

“Thank you, Martin.” Sherlock said more shyly than he’d intended. “it’s lovely to meet you.” Not quite knowing what else to do, Sherlock offered his hand out to shake.

The little boy took it and smiled. The smile transformed his face instantly; from too-serious to beautiful and open; the angst dissipating into youth. Sherlock felt himself beaming back.

“He always speaks French when he’s nervous.” said Ben.

“I do not.” said Martin with sudden irritation.

"And sometimes he just stays quiet."

“I do not.” Martin shot Sherlock a quick, shy glance before giving Ben a menacing look.

"He doesn't get on with people very much."

“Right, boys, that’s enough.” said John. “That’s not a nice thing to say, Ben.”

“Father has Malaria,” said Ben suddenly. “From Brazil. Obviously, he’s in a weakened condition. He’s still managing to help me build my submarine. We’ve spent all afternoon together.” The boy shook his head in an over dramatic expression, encouraging sympathy. Sherlock made a mental note to gently discourage the boy from an acting career.

“Is that right?” asked John looking at Sherlock.

“John...”

“This,” John said suddenly closing the gap between them, “Is Amanda. Say hello, little one.” He crouched down in front of Sherlock with the tiny girl Sherlock hadn't been able to stop looking at. The girl squealed and buried her face in John’s shoulder. Sherlock thought he knew just how she felt.

“Well,” said John, “She’s going through a bit of a phase.” He handed the little girl to Ben.

“Are you going to talk now, Daddy?” Ben asked. The boy was giving Sherlock a heated look that screamed 'Don’t screw it up!'

“Watch your sister.” John said. He turned to leave. Sherlock turned to place the model down and follow John out of the room. It wouldn’t leave his fingers. Ben was looking at him with a kind of awe, Martin with confusion, and John with raised eyebrows.

“Well but-! He was handling the glue!” Sherlock cried looking at Ben. Amanda squealed. If Sherlock didn’t know better, he could swear it was a laugh.

+++

Twenty minutes and a bit of nail polish remover later, Sherlock stood with John in the bedroom.

“Amanda. IVF.” Sherlock said, more than asked. John nodded, and for the first time looked sadly at Sherlock.

“I wanted another one,” he said, “ I knew you were coming back, but I didn’t know when.”

“Mycroft.” said Sherlock with an edge of habitual agitation. And yet, not really; his brother offering comfort to his children, helping John bring _his daughter_ into existence-  pushed Sherlock to a place where anger was impossible.

“He’s been very good to all of us.” John said, as though reading Sherlock's thoughts. He shut the door.

“What about the children?” Sherlock asked, looking nervously at it. He marvelled at the protective feelings he was already mercy to.

“Mrs. Evans is still here. They’re fine. The door is just for a bit of privacy. Not that it works very well. Those two don’t miss a thing, and anything they do miss, they’ll enquire about.”

“They’re remarkably clever... especially Ben...”

“Don’t let Martin’s shyness fool you. Ben may be outgoing, but Martin’s alarmingly bright. He’s the one that figured it out.”

“Figured out...what?” Sherlock looked at John, amazed at the possibility that his assumption about Mycroft was wrong.

John was looking back at Sherlock, his eyes bright with emotion.

“That you weren’t dead.” John said. For a split second John’s expression conveyed a raw anger that shot straight into Sherlock’s heart.

“What are you doing?” asked John.

Sherlock opened one eye.

“I’m waiting for you to punch me.” he said weakly.

“What kind of example would that set for my children?” Said John. He began to peel his clothes off.

“What- are you doing, John?”

“I worked midnight to six today, and have three kids. I need a shower, as you’ve no doubt deduced.”

“Right.” Sherlock felt himself overwhelmed; at a loss for words. He’d played their reunion over and over his his head for years, had the perfect conversation tree mapped and memorised. Only the scenario he was finding himself in was so different than the one he’d rehearsed with, he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“It’s amazing how attached to you Ben is already.” sighed John.

“I don’t believe he thinks very much of me at all.”

“Hah. Are you joking? Look how possessive and bossy he’s become. He’s even suddenly jealous and competitive with his brother... normally they're thick as thieves.” Sherlock gave John a blank look.

“Doesn’t that remind you of anyone? No, of course not....” John tossed his pants in a nearby hamper. Sherlock swallowed; he could fully appreciate how much John had been exercising in his absence. His beautiful body suggested the amount of emotional pain he’d been working through, and Sherlock felt the weight of a genuine, crushing guilt that had developed over time and grown tenfold in the past twenty four hours.

“being quite protective of you too...” John was saying, “that ‘take it easy on him he’s got malaria’ story...”

“I do have malaria. Did...just.” Sherlock said helplessly. It felt difficult to breathe. John came over and placed his hand on Sherlock’s forehead, looked into his face. Sherlock couldn’t help but shiver very slightly.

“Hm. The little man’s getting better. Sherlock gave John a quizzical look.

“Sometimes he deduces correctly, but quite often he makes things up. He is four,” explained John,  "How does someone travel through South America and stay so pale, Sherlock?”

Sherlock squinted with sudden epiphany.

"Has he not actually been to Hawaii then. Noooo, of course not. Clever boy..." He muttered.

“Are you going to say something, or what, you bastard?” John suddenly demanded.

“John! I! - I did it to protect you! ” Sherlock stammered, “Moriarty - he -he threatened my loved ones- I couldn’t let him- ”

Sherlock stopped. His own words sounded foolish, predictable, contrived. That anger was back in John’s eyes. It frightened him, he had not seen anything like it from John and no idea how to handle it. John shook his head.

“So many things you could have done differently. "So many,” said John stepping into the bathroom. “Come on. I’ve been missing shagging you for almost five years.”

+++

“Daddy?”

“Yes, love?”

“Where is your moustache?”

“I shaved it off him!" said Sherlock triumphantly across the table. He was feeling much better about things. There was still the weight of his actions to contend with both inside and out, but the paralysing aspect of his guilt had largely been washed away in the shower. John hadn’t rejected him outright and seemed more relaxed. The children were amazing and seemed to like him. The moustache was gone. Things were really looking up.

Sherlock replayed the memory of John’s rough, angry kissing and painful caresses.

_In the end, devoid of words, Sherlock had used Ben's suggestion._

_"I’m sorry, " he whispered,_

_“please forgive me,” his lips pressed to John’s ear._

_“I love you”_

_“I thank you"_

_He’d chanted it again and again, embracing John gently, allowing himself to be embraced, pushed against the wall, shoved and squeezed angrily, lovingly, affectionately punished as he repeated the words over and over._

_The phrase would never be separate from the moment again; from John’s soft sobbing against Sherlock’s chest, then driving his fists violently into the wall by Sherlock’s head, from the water streaming down, reuniting, cleansing them both._

“Are you going to have another baby now?” Chirped Ben. Sherlock was yanked from his reverie by the question, though it was clearly meant for John.

“Not now, love, maybe later.” Said John. Sherlock found Highland Spring water in his airway a less than pleasant experience. Four sets of eyes curiously watched him choke, and then rapidly lost interest as he regained his composure.

“But if you aren’t making a baby, what’s it for?” Asked Martin.

“See what I mean?” said John.

+++

“John...”

“Mm?”

“Are you going to tell me about your wife?” Sherlock asked gently. It was well after dinner, and past the children's bedtime. Sherlock's body physically ached from the second round of anger fuelled sex; there were sure to be bruises. He thought it best to bring the new subject up while John was feeling blissfully post-orgasmic and before he’d worked himself up to round three.

John smiled, readjusted himself on the pillow, head propped up in his hand.

“Tell me how you know, first.”

“So many things. A household full of boys that has nail polish remover. The placemats - the way they've been used - your table had been obviously set for two adults and two children for some time, but my one had been put away; it's lacking a recent looking green stain the others all have, including the newest one - Amanda's. The implication being she left before Amanda, or more likely, at the time you decided to conceive her. You’ve got no trace of a ring on your finger, it hasn’t been long enough to mark or shape the skin, but sometimes you reach to twist it like it’s still there. Yet there are no photos of her - you had a short but intense affair, one that’s still emotionally charged. Your bedroom is rather batchelor like, spartan, military, but the rest of the house is refined, comfortable, with a feminine touch. There is a comb specifically for untangling long hair that's been abandoned in the shower. You’re separated, but she’s still in your life. You talk to her, see her on a regular basis. There’s evidence the twins have a dog, their own dog, the drawings and such...but there is no dog here, suggesting a second household they go to regularly. This would make sense for you practically as much as anything as you spend a hell of a lot of time at work and the gym which is obvious from- ”

“I’d almost forgotten how good you are at this. How bloody clever you are.” Said John cutting Sherlock off. “her name is Mary. I think you’ll like her.”

“Hmph,” said Sherlock grumpily, “we’ll see about that.”

+++

“Who were you fighting today?” whispered Ben.

“Vijay and Tommy. They were smashing snails on the wall,” said Martin.

Ben shuddered in spite of himself, the older boys terrified him.

“Do you think he’ll stay?”

“I don’t know. Turn off the torch.”

“They’re busy, they won’t come down.  Anyway, look.”

“What is it?” asked Martin. Ben passed the shiny cube to his younger brother.

“A puzzle. A man gave it to me when I snuck out today.”

“What sort of man?”

Ben shrugged.

“He had a fake face, and coloured hair. He said he was a friend of Father’s.”

“Moriarty?” asked Martin.

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s an alien.” Ben said hopefully. He turned the cube round and round in his hand.

“We should give it to them.” Said Martin. Ben frowned at this suggestion.

“Let’s solve it. I want to show Father- ”

“What’s everybody doing awake?” Came John’s voice from the doorway. The flashlight went out, the boys quickly readjusting under their blanket.

“Better.” said John, closing the door.

In the blackness of the room, the twins could see the cube glowing faintly. Numbers rippled across its surface in rapid succession. Ben and Martin watched the sequence with growing excitement. Neither one could see his brother’s face in the dark, but it wasn’t necessary. The temptation was too great.

“Ok,” said Martin quietly, “but just this once...”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I did end this one with my user name. The ego is our most disgusting feature, really.


End file.
